Nigredo's waveform calmed in increments, and part of the tight tension in Albedo loosened-- Part, and no where close to all, and when Nigredo looked to the side, Albedo dropped his arm, maintaining the majority of his body in-between the two.
There was humor in it, and a few weeks ago, a week ago even, Albedo would have laughed. Here were the two parts of his soul, embodied in his own brothers, and here he was between them, never so separate as he was now. Loneliness shuddered through him, and as Rubedo said his name, once, then again, Albedo shook where he stood.
He couldn't stop shaking.
He remembered the night in solitary, he remembered questioning if Rubedo had ever loved them--he remembered his dream, and waking up with the sheer knowledge that his twin had; once, once upon a time, they had all--
Loved each other.
One of Albedo's hands slid to his opposite arm in a young gesture; he bit his lip like he hadn't in months, and looked to the side, away from that cerulean gaze. Here, more than any version, did this seem... like Rubedo. But what percentage, what likelihood was it? Of all the versions there were, would they find theirs here?
The first one they met at Landel's--he, too, was kind and contrite in the beginning. And he was the one to ruin what remained of them. And what, then, would this one do?
If they were smart, they would leave. They would walk in the opposite direction and never face backwards--they would sever all ties in the neatest of ways. But that was not was they were prone to. All of them, all three--if nothing else, love was messy, family relations near close to the worst thing there was, even if it was all there was and ever could be. When given the choice to sever cleanly or to cling until the flesh tore into shreds, the latter would always be the option, and even Albedo-- Even when he had decided to punish them, avenge himself on the ones who abandoned him, even that was a form of clinging to what was left.
He understood all of that now.
"You...." He couldn't decide which route to take. He didn't know which was the correct path. Even now, he wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure at all.
The bravado had slid away easier than it had formed, and instead of anything like Albedo had been, he was now closer to a regression--to the child he had been before. Emotion held him still where once he would have clung with fear and love. "What's the last thing you remember... Rubedo?" Here the boy lifted bright violet eyes, to stare through white bangs with an indiscernible emotion. "The Conflict? After it? Are you twelve, Rubedo?" And here, here only, did the distrust slip into tone. "Or are you a bit older than that?"
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There was humor in it, and a few weeks ago, a week ago even, Albedo would have laughed. Here were the two parts of his soul, embodied in his own brothers, and here he was between them, never so separate as he was now. Loneliness shuddered through him, and as Rubedo said his name, once, then again, Albedo shook where he stood.
He couldn't stop shaking.
He remembered the night in solitary, he remembered questioning if Rubedo had ever loved them--he remembered his dream, and waking up with the sheer knowledge that his twin had; once, once upon a time, they had all--
Loved each other.
One of Albedo's hands slid to his opposite arm in a young gesture; he bit his lip like he hadn't in months, and looked to the side, away from that cerulean gaze. Here, more than any version, did this seem... like Rubedo. But what percentage, what likelihood was it? Of all the versions there were, would they find theirs here?
The first one they met at Landel's--he, too, was kind and contrite in the beginning. And he was the one to ruin what remained of them. And what, then, would this one do?
If they were smart, they would leave. They would walk in the opposite direction and never face backwards--they would sever all ties in the neatest of ways. But that was not was they were prone to. All of them, all three--if nothing else, love was messy, family relations near close to the worst thing there was, even if it was all there was and ever could be. When given the choice to sever cleanly or to cling until the flesh tore into shreds, the latter would always be the option, and even Albedo-- Even when he had decided to punish them, avenge himself on the ones who abandoned him, even that was a form of clinging to what was left.
He understood all of that now.
"You...." He couldn't decide which route to take. He didn't know which was the correct path. Even now, he wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure at all.
The bravado had slid away easier than it had formed, and instead of anything like Albedo had been, he was now closer to a regression--to the child he had been before. Emotion held him still where once he would have clung with fear and love. "What's the last thing you remember... Rubedo?" Here the boy lifted bright violet eyes, to stare through white bangs with an indiscernible emotion. "The Conflict? After it? Are you twelve, Rubedo?" And here, here only, did the distrust slip into tone. "Or are you a bit older than that?"